


All's Quiet

by SunnyD_lite



Category: The Sentinel
Genre: Domestic, Friendship, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-12-12
Updated: 2008-12-12
Packaged: 2017-10-08 06:38:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,593
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/73766
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SunnyD_lite/pseuds/SunnyD_lite
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Work had been quiet: no terrorist attacks, no international jewel thieves, no Feds demanding jurisdiction.</p>
            </blockquote>





	All's Quiet

**Author's Note:**

> Spoilers: Many first season episodes alluded to.  
> Disclaimer: If you've heard of them, I don't own them. For fun not profit.  
> Prompt: 125 Chiwara [Info here](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Chiwara)  
> Thanks again to **Spiralleds** for last minute beta-ing. All errors are my own.

Work had been quiet: no terrorist attacks, no international jewel thieves, no Feds demanding jurisdiction. For some reason none of today's crimes in Cascade had qualified as 'major'. Not that Jim was complaining.   
Except today when Simon had bellowed, Jim's adrenalin started pumping and he could almost hear Blair muttering about pavlovian responses. Turned out that adrenalin was the last thing he needed as Simon just wanted him to close out some cold files, or at least up-dated them.

"It's like an anti-crime wave, but the brass still wants results." Simon hadn't stayed behind his desk, instead he was pacing by his windows. "So if we can clear off some of the old stuff, it will keep our closure rate high." He twisted to face Jim and scowled. "It's budget time."

They shared a headshake. The last year they'd been lucky, solving several high profile cases just as the budget was being negotiated. But without twin assassins or international gun runners as an excuse the budget committee could be more ruthless than Kincaid.

"And where's your side kick? Hate to say it, but he does act as a trouble magnet."

"Exam period, Captain. You're not seriously suggesting that Sandberg's our bad luck charm?" Jim didn't mention that since the start of the lull, many had been muttering that theory when they didn't think he could over hear them. "If you want an hour lecture on the effect of talisman on both primitive and modern society, I could call him up." He twisted his wrist to look at his watch. "He should be handing in marks at the moment."

"Is it that time of year again? Is he writing exams? I remember end of term hell. No wonder he's not here."

"Not writing, giving and marking." And that was putting his normally sunny partner into a foul mood, the few hours a day he actually saw him. Blair'd even been crashing a few nights at the university. 'The commutes just not worth it and, man, you really don't need to be listening to my rants about first years   
inability to retain any information not presented in cartoon or dance tune format.'

"Tell him we miss him. Scratch that; just when will he be done?"

"Seriously, Captain? You think that crime's stopped for exam week?"

"Scoff all you like. It's budget time and this 'all's quiet on the western front' is what ends up halving current funding!" With that Simon turned to stare out the window, which Jim took it as the dismissal it clearly was.

"Yes, sir."

Not that he'd mention it to anyone, but he was feeling Sandburg's absence as strongly or more than everyone else. He'd be going through a file and turn to point something out to him, or ask if a detail might have significance beyond what they'd noted and end up staring at the empty second chair his desk had acquired.

Didn't help that as he entered the bullpen each morning, people waited a second to see if Sandburg was behind him before saying hello. For an observer, he'd definitely won the hearts of the people he was supposedly studying. Well that and the jinx theory. Police work might not be as glamorous as those TV shows, but an extended period of quiet tended to have everyone on edge, waiting for a shoe – or more likely a bomb—to drop.

But today was the day all the grades had to be in. If Sandburg's tales of woe were to be believed, he'd be home shortly after office hours and need food before crashing in the sleep of the just and tortured. "Is it too much to expect them to spell the tribes names correctly? Names are important. How would they like it if I never got their names right? And that's not for marks."

"No parties to celebrate there Chief?" Jim had asked catching Blair one morning as he sprinted around the loft gathering things up into the ubiquitous backpack.

"Students party after exams." He shrugged. "Markers get together a few days later when it will take more than beer fumes to knock us out."

But Sandburg had drummed into him the importance of rituals, so Jim figured he might be able to help out with this. On the way home he hit their favorite Chinese place and even ordered the spicy tofu dish. As he headed up to the loft, he listened for the sounds of Sandburg, but was met with silence. Had the kid crashed already?

Jim jiggled his keys in the lock, a bit surprised that the door wasn't being opened. It wasn't like he was using stealth mode. He pushed into the loft and moved to dump the bags of food on the kitchen table. Absently he noted that he didn't trip over shoes or other Sandburg paraphernalia. The only thing out of place was the flashing light of the answering machine.

"Hey Jim! Got the last of the grades in but Millie at the University Museum put out a call to help with a rare Chiwara exhibit. It's the first time some of these artefacts have left Africa. Plus they're paying cash! So I'll be late. You've another evening free. Don't forget --" The beep cut off the over-caffeinated voice.

Jim just shook his head as he started to transfer the food into Tupperware. He'd learned early on that the aluminium containers would taint the flavour if he left them in too long. It was a small feast but he'd noticed that Sandburg rarely ate well when he was stressed. And, despite what the grad student thought, coffee wasn't a well balanced diet. Closing the fridge after grabbing himself a beer, Jim sunk into the sofa. There was a Jags game on; one he'd been looking forward watching while listening to Blair's color commentary soundtrack. The kid was able to weave together a cornucopia of facts, almost Cliff Clavin-like but strangely not annoying. He'd grown used to an in depth analysis of everything from the effect of different types of basket balls to the changes in the basket height over the history of the league. He'd just have to make do with the sports-casters and their review of statistics and rumors. Hey, it had done well enough before Sandburg. It was fine for a night in.

The game was long over when he heard the heavy footsteps approaching his door. It wasn't the usual gait, but it had been a long few weeks and Blair had to be running on fumes by now. Before Jim realized what he'd done, he had the door open and was grabbing the knapsack that was falling off Sandburg's sloped shoulder. "Don't worry about getting your keys, Chief. Sounds like you're dead on those feet." He stepped back to let the younger man brush past him and stumble towards the sofa.

"Ah man, it was amazing to see the Chiwara statues and masks but--" A yawn interrupted his greeting. "Too bad it wasn't after about twenty hours of sleep. At least the statues were easy to separate into males and females."

"Traditional art your message said?" Jim tweaked an eyebrow. He'd been dragged through enough museums to have an idea what that would mean.

"Yup. It's a good thing I'm secure in my masculinity otherwise the size of those things would be severely off-putting. We joked that they should make it an 18 or over show, but it's the animals that are 'gifted' not human form statues." Sandburg slouched further on the sofa and looked like he was about to put his feet on the coffee table. He stared at his feet, still in their runners, and then back at the table. After that he sagged as if that move was too much effort.

"Rough week?" Jim slipped an open beer into his roommate's hand. He even paused to make sure the grip was secure.

"I think I'm having flashbacks. I mean exam week makes jumping off cliffs a viable and preferable option." That seemed to enliven Sandburg as he turned to face where Jim was sitting on the chair. "But enough about me, what's been going on at the PD? Anything exciting that I'll have to catch up on? I'm telling you, man, I won't be able to face report writing for at least a few days. I'm just glad YOUR handwriting is so much better than half my students."

"The others will be glad to see you. Even Simon was wondering why no one had tried to bomb the place recently." He took a sip of his beer and waited for the expected defence.

"Hey, they'd been planning that for months! No way did Kincaid base his actions on me being…" The look of righteous indignation turned into something softer. "You're just pulling my leg aren't you?"

Another sip prevented Jim from confirming or denying it. But the loft sounded better for the banter. "You look beat, Chief. Why don't you turn in and we'll go out to breakfast tomorrow. You can tell me more about these anatomically exaggerated statue things."

"Man, they are incredible. The workmanship and the balance between male and--"

"Tomorrow!" He stood up and pulled the half empty bottle from his friend's hand. Then offered Sandburg a tug upwards. "It's time for all good grad students to sleep - and not on the couch."

That edict was met with a small grin. "Sure, Jim. Whatever you say."

He'd had to lean on Blair many times. It felt good to be able to return the favor.


End file.
